A Single Name
by TempeJill
Summary: Just an idea I had floating around and finally wrote down. What made Booth suddenly start calling her Bones when they first started working together? One-shot.


**Yes, I got distracted. Sorry to everyone who is waiting for more of Abyss or What She's Been Through. I will try to update them as soon as I can!!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. :(**

**Hope you enjoy this little idea that I had floating around in my head. (Thanks to Sour Candy for getting my to write it.)**

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Booth stood by awkwardly, just watching her work and feeling like he _really_ missed the FBI building. He almost wished he had paperwork to use as an excuse to get out of this place. But he'd already answered her with a 'no' when she'd asked if he had anything else to be doing. That had been to annoy her, since his presence irritated her as much as this lab irritated him. Now he was regretting it.

He glanced at his watch irritably. He needed _something_ from her, anything at all that might provide him with a lead so he could _not_ come here first thing tomorrow and instead go off chasing suspects. It was seven o'clock already. He'd been here for what? Well over two hours, he was pretty sure.

He really, really hated this lab.

Everything was so... clean. Not a single thing out of place, no trinkets or decorations... unless he counted Angela's attempts at cheering the space up. Which he didn't. Her office art actually creeped him out.

What was _wrong_ with these people? Sure, Angela _was_ the most normal, but even she was one of them, was a _squint_. She understood them, for one, something he really could not seem to do. At all.

It seemed like everything he said here made him look stupider or earned him contemptuous looks from her, confused looks from that psychotic assistant of her, and suspicious looks from that frizzy haired squint.

The frizzy haired squint that walked by right then. "Dr. B," he greeted her and proceeded to prattle on about some particulates, sounding _way_ more excited about the slime he'd found than should be legal. Booth waited for an explanation from them; had they found something for _him_, for example? But no, Mr. Conspiracy Theorist went back around him and vanished behind his way-too-large microscope.

He rolled his eyes and turned to her, hoping that maybe, just _maybe_, she would think to translate for him. No such luck, which really wasn't a shock.

She was immersed back in the bones again, still reassembling the back of the partially shattered skull. He had no clue how she knew what went where. That was annoying too; watching her do something that by all police accounts should be totally impossible.

He really wished he didn't ever have to come here to get _help_. The way they acted, no, the way _she_ acted, was like it was _them_ that had solved that last case, and not the FBI. He hated when she was right. He hated looking lower than these lab rats when he worked so hard and did so much every day while they just sat at their lab equipment and cranked answers out of their ridiculously, and annoyingly, large brains.

And, at the same time, he had to admit it was a bit fascinating. The way she just... looked up with those huge blue eyes whenever she had some bit of info. The way her eyes changed slightly when she knew she was right, and lit up with that intense fire when she didn't get her way. He had trouble looking away whenever she did that. Which was frustrating, because he didn't _want_ to be here.

He had to keep convincing himself of that... not a good sign.

Maybe he'd been spending too much time here. This place was _getting_ to him.

"Hey," he said, trying to get her attention so that she might fill him in on what they had so far, and maybe translate from _squint-speak_ what the bug man had said.

She didn't look up... didn't even acknowledge that he'd made a sound, though she _must_ have heard him. He knew that although she might be able to bury herself so thoroughly in her work, she still was hyper-aware of everything around her. She most certainly had not missed it when he'd muttered. "Ridiculous..." under his breath, barely even audibly, the other day when the assistant had suggested a theory. One that turned out to be correct, too.

No matter how much he might find that he didn't actually hate _her_, he never had to bother even contemplating whether or not he like her assistant. The guy was just plain _creepy_. It shouldn't be... allowed... being that... _weird_. She was distant, cold, and isolated from the world. But that... what was his _name_... that... _assistant_ of hers, he was a whole different level of... of _squintness_.

And _she_ did have somewhat of an excuse. He recalled the first day, around a week ago, that he'd been informed he'd be working with her. It was punishment, he knew, for screwing up on that mission from a month ago with Bobby. That was when Rick had quit the bureau after spending less than three days with her. Apparently working alongside the squints had made him see things differently and had given him a new hatred for his life at the FBI. Booth just suspected he'd listened too closely, tried to understand a little too hard what they were saying, and it had driven him to insanity.

But the main idea was that after he'd been brought to Cullen's office and handed a file.

"You're new assignment, Agent Booth, is at the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab. We've hit a dead end on the Marcus case and we need some more forensic back-up," his boss had told him.

"What about Rick?" He'd asked in alarm, only to be informed of the resignation that had been handed in that morning.

The file he'd been given had been compiled, unofficially, by the other agents that had worked with her, and tacked onto the file about her missing parents by Cullen.

"Read both, got it Booth? And for goodness sake do better than the past agents. FBI is _not_ scared of squints, got it? And _no _field work. They stay in the lab. We don't want a repeat of Agent Benson..."

Booth had nodded. He remembered the time that the new agent, Ted Benson, had been assigned to the squints. He'd gotten shot in the leg first time he let _her_ come along with him. As Booth had read through the file briefly he'd found that apparently the one thing she'd said after he'd been hit was, "You should have given me the gun; I'm a good shot."

He hadn't believed half the things written in there until he'd met her in person. Now... well now he believed almost all of it. But he'd formed his own opinions, too. He didn't let their hatred of this place influence... okay, yes he did. But not as much as he could have. For one, his opinion was changing, slightly. He didn't _want_ to be here, yes, but he could _survive_. If he had to.

And he was proud to think he was handling her better than the others had, as well. He'd certainly lasted the longest. He'd been watching to see if she showed any signs that this impressed her, or that maybe she didn't think he was a complete jerk like she apparently thought every FBI guy was... but he was yet to get any positive signs at all. The lowering of the negative ones was definitely a plus side, though.

She let him stand and watch her, for instance, without demanding that he go away. Maybe she'd just gotten bored of trying to make him do anything though. Or she'd figured out that he didn't like it here and was using some stupid reverse psychology thing on him. Dr. Goodman had assured him that she wasn't very good at things like that, but he didn't doubt that she could easily _develop_ the ability to use it, and use it against _him_.

She was still assembling that skull. She still hadn't looked up at him. He sighed, and tried "Hey," again. Still to no avail, even though he'd been louder this time.

"Bren!" a voice called, which got her to raise her head. Angela had arrived at the platform, sliding her card through the security system and beginning to chat about her date she was about to leave on. She passed her friend (Booth was still confused about that... how on earth two opposite people like that were best friends was beyond him. Maybe it was a squint thing.) a sketch from her notepad.

"Thanks," was the response, and then she was turning back to the skull.

"See you tomorrow, sweetie!" Angela said with a wide grin as she headed towards the door. She looked Booth up and down appraisingly, and widened her smile considerably before she vanished. That still alarmed him slightly, even though she did it so often. But he had no intention of involving himself with any squints in that way, so it was a good thing she had a date. Besides, he _had_ a girlfriend right now.

"Dr. Brennan!" called a man's voice with an African accent. She glanced up again, this time a bit irritated at the interruption. "Please tell me that you plan to leave _sometime_ tonight? You've been here since seven this morning," Dr. Goodman said, his voice a bit reprimanding. Booth always found it odd how her boss told her off for working _too_ much. It was... not normal. Not how it was _supposed_ to be in the workplace.

"I've had a lot of work to do-" she defended herself.

He cut her off, "Temperance, please... _eat_ once in a while. Take _breaks_. I appreciate all the hard work, I really do... but I'm saying this because I care."

She set her jaw angrily, but finally nodded. "I'll be out by eight." She said firmly.

He sighed, clearly wishing she'd leave earlier, but did not argue. Like Booth, he knew only too well that it did no good with her.

"Agent Booth," Goodman said with a friendly nod as he passed by. Booth returned the nod and then resumed just watching her.

How did they all do it? Just converse with her? Goodman treated everyone like they were his children here, so he could talk to her like that without much attitude, and Angela could tell her anything and she'd listen or at least sort of listen. In any case, it wasn't like Ange had to worry about being iced over or blasted at for something she said. That danger seemed to only apply to Booth. The outsider.

He was about to try 'hey' again, but thought better of it. She clearly wasn't going to respond to being called like that. She probably expected him to call her Dr. Brennan. Well that was _not _going to happen. There _was_ a reason he wore these socks and this tie and that cocky belt buckle. He wasn't one to submit fully to 'authority'. He was a rebel, he thought with a slight smirk. No, Dr. Brennan was a title he was not going to give her.

That would satisfy her way too much, anyways. She enjoyed the fact she had those three doctorates to a point that was just ridiculous. Maybe she deserved them, yes, but that didn't mean _he_ had to show respect at all times. Especially when she didn't respect him enough to even look up when he tried to get her attention. And she didn't call him 'Special Agent Seeley Booth'. She'd switched to just Booth as of yesterday, actually, not bothering to give him the title of Agent, even.

He couldn't call her Temperance either, not like Dr. Goodman was able to. It was too... personal. He didn't even know _how_ Goodman got away with that one. She wasn't the type to allow personal things in her workplace. Heck, he didn't even know what she allowed in her non-workplace. Did _anyone_ ever call her Tempe? He'd never even heard that nickname spoken aloud to her. No one probably dared, and if anyone did it would be Angela, who was far too accustomed to calling her Bren or sweetie to switch now.

"Brennan," he said at long last, his boredom getting the best of him. He couldn't stand the silence much longer, and he really just wanted to know what she'd found so far.

She slowly lifted her head to give him an icy glare that practically chilled him all the way to his bones. He had to admit, that _was_ a bit scary...

"It's _Dr._ Brennan; I do have three doctorates you know," she snapped furiously, and then turned back to the skull again.

He sighed in irritation. He was still not going to call her that. But he did need _something_ to call her by, though. 'Hey' clearly was _not_ working.

He wondered what the other agents had called her. Mostly she was referred to as the scientist lady. Or the skeleton lady. No one ever called her Dr. Brennan at the FBI building. Except Cullen, of course.

She was still hunched over the bones, no doubt caring more about them than about him or anyone else that might get in her way. What _was_ it with her and these bones? It seemed like her whole life just revolved around them. He'd heard about people who lost their families dedicating their lives to finding them, but this was different. She wasn't looking for her parents; she wasn't even trying for that. She just was identifying bones.

There was Angela and her art, Goodman and his directing and such, Hodgins and his... slimy things... and her and her bones.

Bones.

_Bones_.

He frowned. Bones?

He looked back at her again, at her eyes that were so focused on their task... at how it seemed like nothing in the world existed but those bones when she stared so intently at them.

Yes. Bones.

A slow grin formed on his face, and then he shook his head at his own insanity. He must be nuts to even think of this. To even think that he'd survive if he did this. But... he couldn't _not_ do it, not now. And as he looked at her he saw that it really fit. It really, _really_, fit.

"Hey, Bones," he addressed her.

She looked up; he assumed it was out of pure shock and nothing more. She was frowning, more confused than angry. For the moment.

"What did you say?" she asked, her tone dangerous.

He could always try to get away with claiming he'd said something else... bones was a word, after all, not necessarily a name. But she probably wouldn't believe him. She surely had picked up on the way he'd said it, how he'd used it as a title to get her attention.

"I said hey, Bones," he replied, unable to avoid the cocky way it sounded. He smiled wider, "So, you got anything new for me?"

She looked genuinely bewildered, and he couldn't avoid thinking, _God, she looks cute when her brow furrows like that... and her eyes get all confused..._

His mind wiped the thought away. She wasn't cute. She was a scientist. Whom he was working with. A _squint_.

She shook her head as if to clear it and then began listing of a long factual array of information that he couldn't keep up with. He was almost sorry he'd asked. He decided it would be safer to not ask her to repeat or translate, seeing as that as soon as she was done she was immediately back to work with her reassembly job.

He kept his eye on his watch after that, barely staying awake. For some reason, he still hadn't left, even though he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be getting anything actually understandable out of her tonight. If he came back tomorrow morning she'd probably have a report typed out for him on the details, and he could use that to get more information and find suspects. It would certainly be easier. But still he stayed.

He supposed that maybe... he wanted to make sure she _did _leave at eight. He agreed with Goodman; she worked way too hard and way too long for it to be healthy.

It was two after eight when he next lifted his watch lazily to check. A slight breath of a sigh escaped him in relief.

"Eight o'clock, Bones," he told her.

She straightened herself up and crossed her arms. "Why do you keep saying that?" she asked irritably.

"Saying what?" he smiled as he said it, enjoying the frustration and annoyance on her face.

"'Bones'. Why do you keep saying it?"

He shrugged, "It fits you."

"You..." she sputtered, and then stepped around the table to stand face to face with him, her nose almost touching his and her eyes blazing like wildfire, "You're _calling_ me _Bones?"_ she asked, her voice deadly.

He nodded.

She didn't seem to have any words to say to counter that. For once, she literally appeared to be at a loss for words. Perhaps she couldn't believe that he had seriously dared to do that.

"Do _not_," she hissed viciously a moment later, "call me _Bones."_

He couldn't help it. He smiled again. "Why not?" he asked innocently.

Her mouth hung open as she sputtered in indignation and struggled to find an explanation. He had one, or course, and that was that it _annoyed_ her... but he knew she wouldn't tell him that. It would be incentive for him to continue. Too bad she didn't know he intended to continue no matter _what_ she said...

"Just don't," she snapped finally, and then grabbed her bag from the back of Angela's chair and stormed out of the lab. Booth followed behind at a distance and watched her as she climbed into her car and pulled away.

He considered, for a brief moment, if he should listen to her. It would be rather mean to keep saying it when he knew how awful the other guys from the FBI had treated her. He didn't want to end up like them, or worse, have a few broken _bones_ as emphasis that he needed to stop. And he didn't hate her. In fact, he felt sort of bad for her. When he watched her and how coldly she treated everyone... how distant she was... it was incredibly obvious to him why she was like that. And surely she was hurting inside. He didn't like that. Maybe it was those 'alpha male tendencies' she'd accused him of on their first day, but either way the thought of what she must go through every day, and how she must have felt losing her family like that... it was a bit upsetting.

But still... he liked the name. And it seriously_ did_ fit her very well. Not to mention... when he'd used it she'd gotten that incredulous look on her face and with her mouth hanging open in such a shocked way... he'd liked that. It was... cute.

And... it almost made her seem more _human_, having a nickname. Having a name with no Doctor in front of it, no last name formal addressing...

Yes, he'd keep calling her it. Maybe... maybe someday she'd even like it. Maybe she'd be upset if he _didn't_ call her Bones. That would be a day he'd like to see. And he'd really like to still be here to see it. Even if it meant working in this lab... he'd like to work here with Bones.

And he'd never call her anything else... except of course, if she still hated the name badly enough, he might call her Temperance should there be a situation where he was worried about her.

Oh, god. He was planning on staying here for a long time, wasn't he?

But he couldn't seem to regret it. She was fascinating, after all, and he wanted... he wanted her on his side. It was amazing how his thoughts about this place could change so fast with the creation of a simple name.

Dr. Temperance Brennan was now Bones. Maybe someday his partner... it was an interesting concept. Maybe he'd work on that.

He got in his SUV and drove home, all the while somehow unable to get her face and those blazing blue eyes out of his mind.

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**Let me know what you think, please? :)**


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